After being taken—in a wheelchair, no less—for a battery of neurocognitive tests early the next morning, Bree lay back in her hospital bed, her eyes closed, even more exhausted. The specialist was to be in soon with the results.
“Your knight in shining sailboat brought you this,” Amelia told her, “but they didn’t let him get farther than the nurses’ station on this floor—family only now, especially since there are reporters downstairs who would swarm you.” Bree turned her head to see a beautiful, orange-hued orchid plant. Tears filled her eyes at Cole’s kindness. In the midst of dreadful memories of storm and sharks and the fear of loss, the blooms looked like small, hovering butterflies. Hope—they reminded her of hope. And the plant was in a stunning, striped, dark and light box, made of a kind of wood she’d never seen.
“He’s divorced now, you know, and quite a catch, if you ask me,” Amelia said, smoothing the bedsheets as if she’d remake the bed with Bree in it.
“I’m not looking for a man, but for Daria!”
“Of course—I know. It’s just you haven’t had anyone serious since Ted. Since before Ted died, even. Darn, sorry to have brought that up.”
“It’s all right,” Bree told her, though she would have liked to bandage Amelia’s mouth shut before she stuck her foot in it again. “Just don’t ever bring him up around Sam Travers, because he still blames me for his Ted’s enlisting and his death.”
“As if I’d ever be around Sam Travers,” Amelia muttered, perching on the chair next to the bed. “And how ridiculous to hold it over you just because you broke up with his son and he enlisted and died. But then, people do hold grudges for years when someone or something dear is lost. I can sympathize with that.”
Summoning up what little strength she had, Bree worked the controls to elevate the back of the bed, then got the TV remote from the bedside table. Talking about loss or death right now was the last thing she could bear. As ever, despite how kind Amelia was trying to be, she was getting on Bree’s nerves.
Bree switched on the TV, which sat high on a narrow, suspended shelf across from the foot of her bed. It was almost noon, and the local stations always covered search-and-rescue efforts in the gulf. Search and salvage. If only she could go search for her sister and salvage her from any possible harm right now.
The TV came on with a political commercial, the kind everyone was sick of already, and the election was still almost two months away. This one was for Marla Sherborne, the incumbent, conservative U.S. congresswoman who was adamantly antigambling. The ad, like most of hers, warned against the dangers of letting casino boats into the area, because it would open the doors to “unbridled outside control of huge amounts of dirty money.” A wealthy Miami businessman named Dom Verdugo was trying to bring a casino boat into Turtle Bay, but it hadn’t been approved yet and everyone was arguing about it. A gambling boat would bring more business to local restaurants and shops, but hordes of outsiders could run up property prices and ruin the already endangered old Florida ambience, not to mention create more abuse of the gulf itself. The visuals on this ad even tried to tie the casino boat to water pollution that had endangered marine and plant life below the glittering gulf.
Ironically, there was a tenuous—and doubly tension-filled—relationship between Marla and her opposing candidate in the U.S. senate race, Josh Austin. The scuttlebutt was that Josh Austin’s wealthy sugarcane-baron father-in-law, a longtime widower, was having an affair with Marla. If anything came of the relationship, Josh could be trying to unseat his step-mother-in-law.
See, Bree tried to encourage herself, her brain was working great, filled with names and details from days, weeks, months—years ago. So why couldn’t she summon up much of what happened during her own rescue by Cole? Could they be giving her that sedative already? She had to remember everything to help find Daria.
“The commission doesn’t completely trust Marla Sherborne’s claims of being so gung ho about the environment,” Amelia put in, pointing at the TV. “Not since everyone says she’s literally in bed with that sugarcane baron, Cory Grann, and the fertilizer run-off from their fields is such a problem.”
There was a quick knock on the open door followed by a voice Bree recognized instantly, though he still stood out in the hall. “Do I hear my father-in-law’s name being taken in vain?” a jaunty voice asked. “They’re not letting even the press in to see you, but I pulled a few strings.”
“Josh!” Bree cried as he popped his head around the door and came in. She was so glad to see their old friend. A politician one could trust, Josh Austin had the ways and means to solve any problem. She felt better already.
“I hope you didn’t hear what we think of all these ads, because yours will probably be on next,” Amelia told him. Both sisters knew Josh from years back, when he had dated Daria. Even when Daria and Josh had split up—definitely Josh’s decision—all three sisters had wished him well, though they had seldom seen him in person over the years since. But all the locals were proud of Josh Austin.
“Hey, I have no choice,” he said, his voice still upbeat. “A necessary evil, a sign of the times. I hate the damn things, too.”
“It’s good to see you, but we need your pull to make something happen for Daria,” Bree told him. “We’ve got to find her.”
“That’s why I’m here. I’m doing everything I can. I’ve already made some this-is-top-priority calls to the guard and the air patrol.”
He shook hands with Amelia, then strode toward the bed and bent to kiss Bree’s cheek. Indeed, one of his campaign ads ran in the background, touting his views that, with stringent oversight, a clean gulf could coexist with controlled gambling to pour more jobs and money into the local economy. And that meant more money for environmental protection. The ad ended with a shot of him and his beautiful wife, Nicole, also a lawyer, holding hands and walking toward the camera on the beach. They had no children, or they would certainly have been in the ad. Daria had said she’d heard that Nicole, whom Josh called Nikki, had suffered two miscarriages.
“I had to see you when I heard,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder. “Nikki sends her love. She’s down giving the reporters lying in wait for you a sound bite or two about me so they’ll leave you alone.”
“I’d talk to them if I thought it would help find Daria. Be sure to thank her for me.”
“She’s being a real trouper right now. Just between us,” he said, whispering now but shaking his head, “she thinks once I’m in congress, the White House is a small step, and that’s her idea of a dream home. But enough about that. I’m sure they’ll find Daria. Oh, here, I brought you the morning paper about your rescue,” he said, producing a folded copy of the Naples Daily News from under his arm and handing it to Amelia. “You and DeRoca both did what you had to do. I admire both of you for your courage.”
Josh Austin was a wonder, and not just because of his vitality and boyish good looks that never seemed to change. He had always amazed Bree and absolutely awed Daria, who had dated him three years in high school, long before his statewide glory days. In high school he’d been in charge of everything and was voted most likely to succeed. He had, too, leaving everyone behind in his stardust as he married a wealthy man’s daughter whom he met at Florida State, became a successful businessman and the youngest state representative in Tallahassee. He was now in a neck-and-neck race to unseat Marla Sherborne for her U.S. senate seat. Everyone in the area liked Josh, including Daria, even though he’d broken up with her before he’d left for college, long before Ted and Bree had split up. But what a fun foursome they had been years ago. Ted was gone now, but not, she prayed, Daria, too.
The three of them watched silently when the coverage of the search for Daria and their dive boat